Fatal Judgment (19 page)

As the door to Liz’s chambers opened on Friday evening and she appeared on the threshold, Jake broke off his conversation with Spence. Even though she claimed she’d only put in half days during her first week back on the job, they’d been long, packed, tiring half days. More like full days for most people. The smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes attested to that.

“Ready to go home?”

“Yes.” She gave a weary nod.

“Give us ten minutes to get our people in place.”

“No problem. I owe Delores a call, anyway.”

As she pulled the door shut again, Spence raised an eyebrow. “The lady looks beat.”

“Yeah.” He pulled his BlackBerry off his belt and tapped in a few numbers. As he passed the word to the marshals on motorcade detail, he checked his watch: 7:30. Her departure time never varied more than a few minutes.

Liz, as he’d discovered this week, was a creature of habit. She liked having a schedule and she didn’t like surprises. As a result, there was a definite pattern to her days. In the morning, she reviewed old case files at the condo. At noon, she came to the courthouse, where she spent her afternoon reading briefs, hearing oral arguments, and conferring with the chief judge and her clerks. Next week she planned to begin presiding over trials again.

He didn’t know if she’d always had a penchant for leading an organized, planned life. But after all the turmoil she’d endured with Doug, after the trauma of Stephanie’s murder, he could understand why she’d want an orderly, predictable existence.

From his standpoint as head of her protection detail, however, predictability was dangerous. That’s why he varied their route to and from the courthouse each day. After finalizing tonight’s travel plans with the driver in the lead vehicle, he slipped the phone back on his belt and glanced at Spence.

“Ready?”

“More than. It’s been a long, boring week.”

“I’ll take boring over the alternative.”

“Yeah?” Spence’s tone was skeptical. “Then why did you join the SOG?”

As he fumbled for a response, Spence answered his own question.

“My guess is you like action and the adrenaline rush of danger except when a certain lovely judge is involved.”

Scowling, Jake tried to think of a way to refute that conclusion. Nothing came to mind, leaving him with only one option.

He ignored Spence and rapped on the door.

A soft chuckle sounded behind him. In the short time they’d been working together, his colleague had managed to figure out almost as much about what made him tick as his sister and brother had. He hadn’t been surprised when his siblings had picked up his interest in his charge. But it was annoying that Spence had too.

Liz opened the door, coat over her arm, briefcase in hand. Jake took the bulging satchel from her and passed it over to Spence. As she stepped into the hall, they flanked her and set a quick pace in the direction of the elevator.

“Which exit are we using tonight?” She looked up at him.

“Back service entrance.”

“I’m too new here to know where that is.” She started to put her coat on as they walked, but Jake stopped her with a touch on her arm. “It’s seventy-eight degrees.”

“Wow. Talk about Indian summer!”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Spence chimed in. “Next week we could have snow. Ya gotta love St. Louis weather.”

The elevator door opened seconds after Jake punched the button, and he ushered her in. He and Spence followed, standing in front of her as he entered the bypass code that would allow them to travel nonstop to the lower level.

“Delores wants to come by again on Sunday. Is that okay? I got the feeling she’s planning to replenish my cannoli supply.”

He smiled at her over his shoulder. “No objections from me.”

“Me, either. As long as you save me some,” Spence seconded. “Jake and I are off this weekend, and
I
won’t see you until Monday. I don’t want to miss out on my share.” He ignored the dark look Jake directed his way.

“Don’t worry. There will be plenty to go around,” Liz promised. If she’d picked up Spence’s intimation, she gave no indication of it.

“What’s on your agenda tonight?” Jake tossed the question to her over his shoulder as he watched the elevator’s progress and moved toward the door.

“Dinner and bed. I’m beat.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Spence shifted his jacket aside and rested his hand on his Glock as the elevator came to a stop and the door slid open. He stepped out first, then motioned for Jake and Liz to follow. Jake made sure the transfer to the waiting vehicle was swift and efficient. Less than half a minute later, they were moving out.

“You know what’s sad? This whole routine is beginning to feel normal to me.” Liz buckled her seat belt.

The dark interior hid her features. But Jake had no problem picking up the thread of melancholy woven through her voice.

It wasn’t the kind of comment that required a response, so he didn’t offer one. Besides, he was still mulling over Spence’s observation about him joining the SOG because he liked action. It was dead-on. After Jen died, he’d needed action. Needed a job that demanded intense, singular focus. It had been the only way to keep the pain at bay. And that strategy had worked. The SOG required every bit of his energy and concentration.

In the nearly four years he’d been part of the elite group, he’d dealt with plenty of life and death situations. Had been entrusted with countless lives. And he’d done his best to protect everyone in his care. But truth be told, he’d thrived on outwitting the bad guys. Had liked the high-stakes challenge.

He didn’t like it this time.

Thanks to Liz—as Spence had suggested.

And much as she yearned for routine and predictability, no one would be happier than him when things returned to normal.

The weather wasn’t cooperating.

Frustrated by the meteorologist’s report, Martin punched the off button on the television remote and settled back in his recliner, stroking Josie, who lay curled in his lap. It was the end of October, for pity’s sake. It should be forty degrees tomorrow, not eighty. Cold enough to require coats and hats. Yet when he’d followed the Morettis to the judge’s condo this morning and watched as they’d delivered another pan of food, Harold had been wearing shorts!

He’d hoped to implement his plan before Patricia arrived. Now he’d either have to wait until she left in three weeks, or figure out a way to pull it off while she was here.

Then again, her presence might not be a bad thing. He didn’t intend to leave any clues for the authorities, but alibis were always good to have. And he could count on Patricia for that. He might think she was nuts for going to Sierra Leone, but he’d never questioned her loyalty. She’d always stood up for him, taken his part. If he needed a champion, Patricia wouldn’t fail him.

Giving Josie one final pat, he set her on the floor and stood. Might as well take a final inventory of his equipment and double-check the letters. The more prepared he was, the less margin there’d be for error. And he didn’t want any more errors.

Because the next time he went after Judge Elizabeth Michaels, he didn’t intend to fail.

Good heavens!

Was that Patricia?

Martin squinted at the woman barreling toward him down the concourse from the gate area at Lambert International Airport. She’d trimmed down, and her skin had taken on what appeared to be a permanent, deep tan. The fan of lines around her eyes was also new, as was the mannish cut of her silver hair. If he hadn’t been watching for her, she could have walked past him a few feet away and he wouldn’t have spotted her.

She seemed to be having trouble picking him out too, based on the way she was scanning the crowd.

No surprise there. He looked in the mirror every day. Knew his face had grown lined and haggard over the past couple of years. He’d lost a fair amount of weight too. And the gray hair and buzz cut would throw her. Last time she’d come to St. Louis, his hair had been on the shaggy side, and more pepper than salt. He’d grayed up some since that visit, but not enough for his plan. Dye had solved that problem, though.

All at once he saw recognition dawn in her eyes as her gaze connected with his. For an instant she appeared shocked. But then she broke into a smile and lifted her hand in greeting.

He waved back, forcing up the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his sister. But he still didn’t like the timing. While it had some advantages, there were challenges too. Like finding ways to slip away without arousing her suspicions.

As she passed the security checkpoint and left the concourse, he hoped she’d been sincere about not wanting to disrupt his life. When she’d phoned to give him her flight information, she’d made him promise not to change any plans on her behalf. Good thing. Waiting until she left to finish the job he’d botched two weeks ago wasn’t an option.

Unfinished business bothered him.

He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. Back in his school days, whenever he’d had a paper to write, he’d tackled it right away, unable to rest easy until it was done. That compulsion hadn’t lessened with age. For his own peace of mind, he needed to take care of Judge Michaels sooner rather than later.

“Marty!” Patricia stopped in front of him, set down her carry-on bag, and threw her arms around him. “Give your big sister a hug!”

“Hello, Patricia.”

He patted her back awkwardly, self-conscious as always with public displays of affection. He hadn’t even felt comfortable holding Helen’s hand in the ER that last night, despite the silent plea she’d sent his way. His father had always belittled that kind of behavior as sentimental fluff. Called it sissified. And Martin had never wanted to be a sissy. What he’d wanted was his father’s approval. His respect. Some sort of tangible proof of his love.

No matter how hard he’d tried, though, nothing he’d done had been good enough to earn him any of those things. But he’d found them in other places. From Patricia. And Helen. He’d gotten a healthy dose of respect on the job too.

He hadn’t gotten it from his government, that was for sure.

Swallowing past his bitterness, he tugged free of Patricia’s embrace and bent to pick up her bag. There was no way to condone snatching away the house a man had scrimped and saved to buy and called home for twenty-six years. Or depriving him of the work that defined him. Or fining him an exorbitant amount for making an honest mistake.

That wasn’t just disrespect. It was robbery.

It made a man feel like a victim.

And he didn’t like being a victim.

He trudged toward baggage claim, his fingers clenching on the handles of the bag. That was water under the bridge, though. He couldn’t change the past. But he could do his part to fix the broken judicial system and freedom-sucking government that stole from a man and let an ER doctor get away with murder. That was what Jarrod always—

“Marty!”

At Patricia’s summons, he looked over his shoulder. She was standing where he’d left her, watching him with a puzzled expression.

Retracing his steps, he rejoined her. “What’s wrong?”

“I was in the middle of asking you a question and you just walked off.” She peered at him. “Is everything okay?”